


Thrilla My 'Chilla

by Albrecht_Starkarm



Series: Pet Care [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Androgyny, Injury, M/M, Magic, trap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 23:59:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7458694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Albrecht_Starkarm/pseuds/Albrecht_Starkarm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Research suggests a pet is a boon to anyone's recovery, but little attention's been lavished on the medical worth of a libidinous dark-eyed witch's familiar.  Introducing Dean, the day's subject, eager to offer his body and broken leg for study.  With purely dispassionate commitment to the spirit of scientific inquiry, of course.</p><p>PETA-approved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thrilla My 'Chilla

Cabin fever's a bitch. Ain't it? Hell, the place isn't _bad_ ; that's not what I'm saying. More than enough... Uh...

Hardwood. And concrete. Ah, damn it.

The bunker's a crapshack. Only possible word for it. Horizons in bleak cold rock and thick tawny wood and, yeah, there's little brother shuffling down every damn hall like some kinda zombie with a Harvard scholarship, jabbering off more crap that, c'mon, let's be honest, ain't gonna help.

The kid could definitely stand to get out of the house. Such as it's a house. So could I, come to think of it. Too bad there's this damn cast slapped like a damn plaster anaconda around my leg, and there's no damn _Cas_ , y'hear me, man?! Do you hear me?!

Doesn't hear me.

No damn Cas to work his angel voodoo or whatever that is to stitch it back together. So it's only the body. And Sammy snapping at me about finally, _finally_ having something that hasn't been mechanically reclaimed and reprocessed and bromated tossed into my gut and since _when_ is beer not the best remedy for a broken leg?

I know it's gotta be in one of the books lining the library where the bastard's just _stuck_ me. A wheelchair; and crutches. Mostly a damn wheelchair. An invalid. That's what I am. Staring up at the ceiling, and not a single damn Playstation... Hell, y'know, I'd settle for a game of _Pong_ right now. Just anything to silence the endless jabbering about...

Whatever.

Mystical something.

Men of Letters juju.

"So, anyway, Dean, like I was saying, I think, ah, when you're better, if we can just... Just _find_ the Dagger of-"

"Sammy!" Yeah, fine. Call me a damn human bullhorn. Or maybe boat horn. Whatever. I don't care. But that's what I can hear like thunder through the library, twisting around that damn chair to fix my lil' brother with _the stare_.

You know what it is.

Your eyes narrow.

The skin stitches tight.

Lips purse.

"Sammy, damn it, man, you're drivin' me crazy. I _know_ you said you wanna take care of me, but... This ain't doing it, all right? The salads; the clean-living crap. I need, okay, I need a _hamburger_." Accentuate _this_ one with your hands out, akimbo, like you're kneading the patties yourself.

Hell, I can _taste_ it.

Dripping all that poisonous better-living-through-chemistry _crap_ he says is polluting me, twisting me into some kind of corporate slave, and, hell, who _cares_ right now?

MSG? Please. Double dose. Processed cheese? Just _drown_ the damn thing in it.

"I need a hamburger. I need pizza. I need cheap shitty beer. More than _anything_? Man, I need a doughnut. I mean, _Homer Simpson_ bad, man. I got the jones for it; I'm goin' nuts, all right, Sammy."

"Dean, all right, I'm just... I'm just _worried_ about you, all right? I've finally, ah, got you at my mercy." That _little bastard_. That towheaded little shit; that sumbitch. Only words for it. That _smile_ ; the quirking little cherub lips and those farm-boy eyes and I _hate_ him more than words can really _say_ right now.

Since when do words say anything?

"Your diet's been _horrible_ lately, man."

"I work out-"

"Well, you can't really work out when you're bedridden or jog a few miles when you have a _cast_ -"

"Sure, I can. More weight for pullups. I'm strong, man. I'm _super-_ strong; if you'd cut me outta this damn cast, you'd see." A slap at my chest.

I am _more_ than strong.

Cut.

Like a fucking _quarry stone_ , man.

Chiseled like a Michelangelo.

"And then you'd just need _another_ one, Dean. C'mon, man. Just... Just listen to me, all right?"

"I'm _bored_ , Sammy!"

"How many books are in this library?" His arms outstretched now. And here we are. The sanctimony like some bad Hallmark made-for-tee-vee-feel-good teacher who'll uplift the poor little inner city brats. And even that stupid goofy suit.

"Why're you wearing our feeb suit, man-"

"'cause, ah... I have... A date tonight." Oh, now this...

"Now that's just precious, man. _You_. _You_?! You have the date? You, the damn eunuch-"

"That's just the doughnut withdrawal talking, man, so I'll forget I heard that." Prim little prick. Standing up.

 _Standing_.

Just to rub my damn face in it.

Without crutches.

Arms 'round his chest.

"Sammy, man, a _date_? Are you fuckin' serious? How is that possible? You've been in this bunker, with me, policing _my_ every meal, for... For weeks now. How'd you even get _out_ , dude? Should- should I be pissed about the whole unfairness thing, or getting up to slap my lil' brother on the back and congratulating him on _not_ just sitting around playing Dee-an'-Dee on the internet with his dorky friends?"

Silence.

It's beautiful, man.

"Dean?" Oh, the betrayal in those teddy bear eyes.

Ha ha. Now _this_ is more than priceless.

You can still put a price on priceless. Don't ask me how that works. But, this? I wouldn't sell _this_ moment for another _fifty_ legs and a night with young Sophia Loren.

"Oh, yeah, man. I know." And now, hell, you _need_ to stand. _Hobble_ up out of that gimp-chair and, yeah, there's a _bit_ of pain.

Oh, aw, hell, it's a full Panzer division going nuts up my leg. But I am _not_ gonna give in to that. Not when I can toss those twenty-sided dice back in his face.

"I _know_. Y'think you're the _only_ one who knows anything about computers, Dungeonmastersexyfiftyfive?" Incidentally, probably one of the nerdiest user names _ever_. Just sayin'.

And, now, well, poor Sammy's about a half-second from laying an egg.

An ostrich egg.

"Enjoy your _salad_ tonight, Dean. I'm gonna eat my bodyweight in steak _and_ maybe not be back 'til I've satisfied my date. Looks like a young Sophia Loren."

"I'm gonna kill ya, man. Just get back here! And, Sammy?" The guy's at least nice enough to set himself up for this one.

A palm slapped on the library door.

Framed in it.

A perfect target.

"What, man?"

"Make sure she's gentle with ya-"

"And drink that spinach-kale-and-beet smoothie I made for you, man, or I'll force-feed it to you _tomorrow_." Bastard. Bastard. "Oh, one more thing, Dean? I thought you'd be lonely, so I got a little pet for you."

A _pet_.

A pet?

"Whoa, Sammy, I'm gonna need to reconsider what I said about the whole Dungeonmastersexy-"

"Don't _ever_ mention that one again."

"What is it? Lab? Doberman? A beagle? You _know_ I dig beagles, man. Those cute little ears." Snatching up the crutches, hobbling along behind the jerk out of the library, and it's...

"Hey, Sammy, where _is_ this lil' guy, anyway? Why didn't you tell me before? What is it? It's not some kinda dorky poodle, is it?"

"Ah, Dean, I think you _might_ be misunderstanding a little-"

"Hell, I'll take the poodle. Just as long 's it's not a chihuahua. Those things give me bad Paris Hilton flashbacks, man-"

"Dean, just wait a second, all right. _Don't_ be disappointed."

"It _is_ a chihuahua? What's _wrong_ with you, man? They're freaks; mutants. Even if that Taco Bell dog was pretty sweet, with the whole Che thing-"

"Dean? Wait. Stop talking. I'm serious, man. You're making me feel _really_ bad about this all of a sudden." And why're we in front of _his_ room?

"It's not some kinda robo-pet, is it? Oh, you're _such_ a nerd. My own brother, man. My own brother bought a _robot dog_ , right?" How can you not bemoan it? "And this chick? She's just battery-operated, isn't she?

"That's a little sad. Even for you, man-"

"Y'know what, Dean? I am _not_ a virgin, okay?"

"Sure, you aren't, Sammy. Sure, you aren't. And we're not gonna need to hunt Charo eventually, either."

"Dean, for the last time, Charo is _not_ a monster. That's just how she looks, man-"

"Sammy, I know what I saw on _Love Boat_ , all right? _No one_ is gonna tell me any different. Just like Michael Jackson."

"And, anyway, _stop_ telling people I'm still a virgin. The last time I saw Cas, he put his hand on my shoulder and said," can't fault Sam for his Cas impression; even without the stubble, he still has the constipated pursing and that voice like he's been chewing cat litter again, "You're one of the blessed, Sam. There's a great reward waiting for you for your patience."

"Hah. Did I tell him that?" As innocent as a virgin in a convent. Or something.

"Double beets in the next smoothie, Dean. _Double beets_." Damn. Jerking open the door; only a jerk could jerk like that.

And it's the usual room.

It's our lives, man. Austerity. Yeah, there's a _little_ bit of life. But everything's portable. Ain't a movable feast. More like a burger stand on wheels.

Without a damn burger. His laptop's always spilling its electronic guts out across the wall in that creamy white-hot puddle.

And that's...

"Okay, Sammy, _what_ the hell is that?" J'accuse, man.

A finger jabbed like a bazooka at the huge fat furry _rat_ huddled staring up at us with stupid beady eyes in a thick-walled terrarium.

"That's, ah, that's our new pet, Dean." What?

"That's a _rat_ , Sammy. That's a _rat_. If I wanted a rat, I'd go down into the... We already live in a basement. What's a basement's basement? Y'know what? Never mind. I'd go down into the sewer and open up a burger and let 'em all gather 'round.

" _Why_ did you buy a rat, man? You really _are_ the weird nerdy kid with the twenty-sided dice who doesn't eat anything but Velveeta on Wonder Bread and talks about his mom to girls-"

"Dean, it's not a _rat_ , okay? And who're you talking about, anyway?" Yeah, like _he_ doesn't know. "Anyway, y'know what?

"Never mind. Don't even _try_ to explain that one to me." Hands upraised, dismissively sweeping away _that_ one. "Listen, dude, all right?

"It's kind of _hard_ to look for pets that're, uh... Bunker-compatible."

"A _dog_ , Sammy. A _dog_. That's what you buy when you're a _human being_. Not some James Bond villain who's getting ready to feed his python or something-"

"A dog? Who's gonna walk the dog when we're out, Dean? Who's gonna _train_ the dog? You? With your leg like it is right now?"

"Dogs- dogs're great, Sammy."

"Well, I couldn't _get_ one. Stop complaining. And it's not a _rat_ , okay? It's a chinchilla." A chinchilla? Yeah, sure.

"Don't you make coats out of those? You bought us a living breathing _shitting_ coat-"

"Dude, you can make coats out of... Of pretty much anything. Dogs-"

"No one makes coats outta dogs! Say that again, and I'll make ya eat that- that long-tailed rat." That ridiculous damn thing. Peering up at me with its stupid black textureless eyes.

Y'know...

"Actually, Sammy, that thing kinda looks like you-"

"Oh, very nice, Dean. Very nice. I think it's kinda cute. Don't you?" Wow, methinks you're protesting a little much, Sam. Just admit it.

Ya bought a rat.

"It's a rat-"

"It's not a rat, okay, Dean." And the guy's, well, he's just clasping his hands on the glass now. And the chinchilla, rat, whatever, it's staring up at me.

Those ridiculous glassy eyes.

"It's a _rodent_." Right? "Isn't it a rodent?"

"Well, yeah, all right. It's a _rodent_ -" No, no, _no_ , Sam. No _but_ s with this one.

"Rodents don't belong in the house, man-"

"It's a _pet_. It's cute; it's soft." There're times when I don't even _know_ you, Sam. And not the usual soulless-automaton thing.

I can deal with that.

But, _this_...

"Here. Just pick it up; hold it a little. You need to be careful with the little guy, though, okay? They're kind of nervous-"

"Nervous? You bought a rat with a weak constitution? Why not a mouse with heart problems?" It's, hell, it's a fur balloon.

An overstuffed satiny condom with humongous ears like a pair of those 'fifties radar dishes and a tail you could use to clean a pipe.

"It's not a rat with a weak constitution. You just... If you pick up the chinchilla, just _put_ your hands in the cage, and let it walk onto your palms, okay? _Don't_ just lift it up out of the cage, or it'll think you're an eagle or something."

"You bought a _stupid_ rat with a weak constitution. Since when do I look like an eagle? Y'know what? Never mind. This's _your_ problem, man. When'd you even buy this thing?"

"When I went out for groceries a few days ago. I think the little guy's _really_ cute. The woman who sold it to me said they haven't had chinchillas in stock for a _long_ time; people love 'em." Oh, so _that's_ it, huh, Sam? Trade _my_ dignity for a date?

"Yeah. Freaks who probably use 'em like Richard Gere to buff their colons-"

"I don't wanna hear this, Dean. If you're gonna play with the chinchilla, _if_ you get bored, just remember not to be mean to it, or it'll piss on your hands. Oh, ah, and don't get it wet-"

" _Why_ would I get your... Y'know what? Never mind. Why not?"

"Just let it roll around in its dust bath if it wants. I think you'll like it. Just hold it. C'mon, man. Just hold the little guy." And how _delicate_ Sammy is; slipping a palm into the cage, and the tiny stupid thing's perking its ears.

Humongous unblinking eyes _leering_ at the guy and there's one step.

Dainty little princess.

Huh. Perfect for Sammy, really.

And then another.

Eased up and cradled against Sammy's chest.

"It's _so_ soft, man. I kind of get why people make coats out of their fur, but, ah... Not this little guy. This one's definitely staying.

"They can live for twenty years, I think." And now Sammy's eyes are getting that sentimental dewy look, staring down at his _glorified rat_.

"Oh, great. It's got a longer life expectancy than _we_ do. Hope Cas is into rats." Y'know, never mind. Don't even _think_ about that one.

The damn thing _eased_ into my hands.

Wriggling.

Squirming.

Just... Settling now in some soft heap on a palm.

Huh.

It _is_ soft.

Downy.

"Well, glad to see your new friend's settling in. I gotta date, Dean-"

"Waitaminute! Sammy, I didn't _say_ I wanted this damn rat! Bastard! You rat-bastard, Sam!" Little prick's just _melting_ off around a corner.

And here I am.

With this.

 _Hobbled_.

"You're such a jackass, Sam. Stickin' me with this thing. Huh. Oh, well. Let's... Let me guess. No tricks? No soft tongue? No ears to scratch? Well, ya got those. Ridiculous ears." Still...

 _Shivering_ with a few fingers dipped into that heavy soft fur.

It _is_ amazing.

"Maybe I'll turn you into a washcloth or somethin'. Hah. C'mon, lil' guy. Back in the cage. I've got some busty Asian beauties with my name on 'em. Or at least Winston Henshaw's credit card."

Stupid name.

But I just ain't feelin' it tonight.

Ain't feeling much of _anything_.

Howlin' Wolf wailing the blues spattering crackling despair through the antique gramophone, a tortured twanging harp, damn if that ain't the song of a broken heart.

And probably a broken leg, too.

Crazed.

_Sooomebody knockin' on my door._

"You sing it, Wolf, man." Or howl it, anyway.

Damn, I'm tired.

Just...

Uh. Slump back, and there's just...

Exhaustion, man.

Total exhaustion.

Every bit of strength is pouring outta me. Yeah, sure. And that salad, that salmon, oh, I'm sure those were _healthy_. 's why I've got the feeling that I'm _bleeding_ life out of every vein; outta my damn ears.

There's just...

Man, he doesn't get it. A man needs _meat_.

Red.

Raw.

At least _rare_.

A man needs a woman.

A man needs _sustenance!_

Needs busty Asian beauties. But _real_ ones. 'cause the doe-eyed goddesses capering over the screen ain't doing it for me tonight.

"Sammy! Ya bastard! You've wrecked me, man! You've wrecked me! You've turned me into a salad-eating freak!

"I could kill ya, man. Just get back here so I can wring your damn neck." And it's one of those weird hyper-lucid dreams where you're _sure_ you're awake. But you _know_ you're dreaming, too, and your eyes are probably even open, and you're just swallowing down _everything_. Still got Howlin' Wolf on the gramophone, just about the only thing not totally shitty about this bunker, and there're...

Steps.

I'm dreaming, man.

I've gotta be.

"Sammy? That you? Back so soon, man? I told ya, didn't I? Probably just wanted to... To sell ya another furry rat or somethin'." And, hell, that's what I _wanted_ to say.

But what comes out is a numb-tongued little gurgle that _sounds_ like _Sammysyuufurryratsomein_.

Hell.

"Hi, Dean." The hell?

Well, it ain't only the voice.

That's _one_ little _stripe_ of psychosis in a huge Jackson Pollock of insanity.

One?

I've somehow _twisted_ myself into a position I could only describe as a ménage between a toilet paper roll and a pretzel and a denim snake.

Half-naked and there's sweat staining _everything_ in the still gloom and there are no windows but damn if it doesn't feel like some sticky summer you'd taste in a fetid N'awlins flop house is wafting over my skin and at least there ain't N'awlins' stink in tourist puke and castoff rubbers and booze fresh or digested.

An arm drooping down over the bed; fingernails graze the thick hardwood floor dusty and grimy and there's Howlin' Wolf as the back door man eatin' mo' chicken, any man seen, mmm-hmm, he's a back door man, and stop your giggling, you little punk.

Holy _hell_ , can you get this shitfaced off of two or three beers?

I think so.

'cause there's...

"Uh, _hi_." Must be. Must be. 'cause, well, 'less Cas has found a _very_ different meat suit, or Crowley's seriously lost his fuckin' mind, or I _have_ _a sister_ and her name is Samantha and she's just been hiding a _lot_ very well, that's...

Not anyone who should be here.

Still entangled.

In my clothing.

And there's a sudden _tightness_ in the pants. Thank god, if you're there, and, y'know, not just _another_ absentee dad, it was just the busty Asian beauties losing their cachet. Damn.

Long.

 _That_ would be the word.

Lean.

Sweet.

A figure like some sinuous soft willow; skin like fresh cream and the hair's, hell, _humongous_. Don't even need to twist into some awkward situp to see _that_ ; a huge curtain of it in lush thick gray and it's cartoon gray. A jaunt to one of _Sam's_ favorite pages; those top-heavy Japanese cartoon beauties and, _wow_ , incredible. Not _elderly_ gray.

Luscious and huge and voluptuous and the feet are bare, fine, very _very_ fine, delicate toes and the figure is nothing but _roundness_ ; sinuous. 's the word.

Thank you, word-a-day.

Sinuous; coiling up and a snake could trace that one, around slender calves and curvaceous thighs and there's... Hell, it's _artful_. That's the word, man. Artful; with that humongous mane as some lovely little bit of modesty and maybe the chest isn't exactly like some busty Asian beauty, but there's a slenderness in everything that'd make it a little silly.

The face more than just _pretty_.

The hair's a thick frame like cigarette smoke coiling around some 'twenties dame but the face is... Exotic. 's the word.

The high high bones you'd toss yourself off of just to prove your worthiness.

The fine jaw.

Hell.

"Mind if I come in, Dean?"

Why the hell not? I _am_ dreaming, after all, aren't I?

"Sure thing, ah..." And, ah, even _inverted_ like this, the beauty's just... that. Dreamy. Something, damn, _supernatural_. Unnaturally lovely. Twist.

Wriggle.

I'm pretty much stuck.

 _Shit_.

More than just a _little_ embarrassing.

"Think, ah, y'know, it's not what it looks like here. I was just... Sleeping. Guess I got trapped by this stupid cast. You, ah, Sam's date? The... The room's down the hall, 'cause..." You look _nothing_ like a young Sophia Loren.

And since when am _I_ tryin' to herd some sexy _naked_ chick to my little brother's room?

 _He_ could not satisfy this one.

"Dean, Dean, Dean. Do you _really_ think I'm looking for your little brother's room?" Ah, _hell_ , no. And there's a muscular _elegance_ in her poise. Twisting on her right leg, left ankle tucked against the right calf, and if I could paint better than a spastic six-year-old with a heap of spit-up crayons and a placemat, I'd _beg_ her to be my model.

Where's a camera?

"I, ah... I'm kinda hopin' not. Do I know you? Waitaminute. How do _you_ know _my_ name? Who are you, anyway? Cas? Is this some kind of sick joke, man?

"'cause that just ain't funny."

"Who's Cas?" Fine _long_ fingers brushed through that humongous hair and I am... Hell, I am in her _thrall_. Already. "May I come in?"

"Oh, yeah. Please. _Please_ , come in. I, ah, what's your name?"

"Do you really care?" Oh, now _this_ is just the universe's kindest gift. Really. More amazing than that _Playboy_ dredged up outta dad's crap when I was thirteen.

More incredible than a little over-the-clothes action with, uh, what was her name? Stacy Wilkins; that year, too.

And the under-the-clothes, well...

Hah. Ever.

"No. Not really."

"Good. Just lie back, Dean. You're so _cute_ , aren't you? You've got that... Mmm..." What is _that_? Do I care? It's _something_. I've got _It_ , baby. "Even if I like James Brown more than Howlin' Wolf."

"And a lady who knows her music. I've got some of the King of Spousal Abuse on vinyl over there; somewhere." Oh, I am _drunk_.

More than drunk.

I passed drunk with only a few beers, damn, what's wrong with me, a few hours ago.

Okay.

Seven beers.

I'll be honest.

I should not lie; not in the presence of, hah, at least a _goddess_.

"Mmm. I'm okay with this right now." And it ain't just a _ghost_ , at least. 'cause the mattress is _sagging_. Just a bit. With a slender knee dimpling the sheets and I have never been happier to be home _alone_. "We're all alone, you know, Dean.

"Your brother isn't back yet. Maybe he won't be back for the whole night."

"Oh, I hope so." And those are fine fingers tugging at my belt.

A sharp sudden _jerk_.

And I'm free. Or at least, a little closer to freedom. The scent wafting from her warm skin, hell, it's... What _is_ that?

Not just a perfume.

Something you smell like crisp spring sweat boiling off of some beauty's nape when you've been out dancing, dancing, two, three hours, _tasting_ more than just scenting it and you suck it deep into your lungs _hope_ you'll remember it through the morning-after.

A slender shoulder.

Lips like cherry petals. So I'm a romantic; sue me.

Hope _she's_ not a cherry.

"So, ah, what's your name-"

"Why do you _care_? All the questions, Dean."

"Did Sammy or someone put you up to this?" Don't ask her if she's a hooker don't ask her if she's a hooker don't ask her if she's a hooker

"Are you asking if someone _paid_ me to do this?" Indignation? Maybe?

"No! No! Absolutely _not_. I'd never even _think_ about that." At least she's not just springing up and stomping off.

Had _that_ happen once or twice.

The smile's slow, like molasses creeping down cold metal.

"Good. Because that would be _very_ stupid. I just... I saw you, and I couldn't _help_ myself. Why don't you just lie back and have a good time?" Now, now, I mean, ah...

Okay.

Guys get _pretty_ stupid from blood-loss.

We're dumb enough as it is.

But _saw me_?

"Where-"

"Just stop asking questions. I didn't think _you'd_ be the one to, ah, look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak." And the mouth is closer. Closer.

Not to _my_ lips.

Oh, shit.

Just...

Lie back.

Shoulders sag into the bedding that's suddenly like gelatin and I am... So fuckin' happy I'm not wearing any shoes right now. Another obstacle'd kill me.

"Okay, honey. Whatever you say."

"Good. I like obedient boys." And now _that_ is **freedom**. Hallelujah, baby! Wanna whoop and howl and holler with Howlin' Wolf and now, now, those are lips, soft like satin brushed over coarse denim, and that's...

"Holy crap." And now I could probably sing falsetto with _that_ one. Teeth cinched around the zipper and tugged _down_.

A sharp little rattle.

"Dean, Dean, have you been _that_ , ah, hard-up lately?"

"God, yeah. I-"

"Then maybe I'll be nice with you. Are you backed up?"

"Like a flophouse drain-"

"Then I'll _definitely_ be nice with you. Y'know, I didn't think your _hands_ were in casts, but what do I know?" And it's swollen.

Bloating up through the underwear; and, yeah, it'd be great to just crumple back and _melt_ into this, but how _often_ d'ya see something like this?

Teeth like a pianist's fingers.

Pulling with a quick shiver in the shoulders, the fine slim nape dusted with the thick gray hair, and the underwear's gone, now, too, jeans about at knee height.

God, I _really_ need to start praying to you again if you'll just give me this _every night_.

Fingers; oh, damn, man, her _fingers_. Like oiled silk, fine, soft, _lacing_ around me, and there's a long slow pull, a tug, a stroke, and, ah, well...

Now, this does not happen _often_.

But I could go in about a second.

Too much busty Asian beauties; too much boredom; too little _relief_.

"O-oh, I wish I knew your name-"

"Shhh. Shut _up_ about names right now, will you, Dean?" And I'm at a disadvantage.

'cause, ah, she knows _mine_.

Lips closer.

"Or do you _really_ want something to call when you, ah...?" Those wicked eyes. And the tongue's better than any _word_ ; flitting out, a quick raw wet pink stripe. Just over the head.

Shot over the bow.

"It's kinda my way-"

"Call me Ceniza, then."

"Oh. Spanish. I like it-"

"So shut up now."

"You're pretty bratty."

"That's right. Play rough with me, won't you?" Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes. And was that a wink? Tongue slipping lolling _rolling_ out now like some delicious pink carpet and there's only heat. Hotter than hot; dewy breath on my skin and there, _there_ , your whole damn universe just crushes down _there_ and it's...

"You really want me to be rough, Ceniza?"

"If you can take it." Hah. I'm... I'm not gonna take _that_ one.

Fingers lace through her hair.

Holy _shit_ , it's soft. Softer than soft; thicker than thick; some huge _plume_ pouring around her and it's combed and stroked and _I_ am combed and stroked, too. Some fine symmetry. Soft subdued sticky suckling and the tongue is serpentine twisting around the head and now, now, the mouth's creeping down, lower and lower and lower and I'm being _swallowed_.

"Holy shit. Holy shit. Ceniza. Ceniza." Stupid refrain, maybe.

I don't care.

Hips arrested with a hand on my skin and, hell, who can complain? Not just pumping up into some chick's mouth, well, that's just courtesy. Not that there's not a tension in every muscle and every _one_ is exploding up through my skin just _craving_ it.

To spear her down to the root.

Wet messy squelching and it's that perfect blowjob that's something you _can't_ find anywhere but in these moments; that simple truth in scalding hot skin and plump lips and sodden with spittle and the tongue's swirling around me and this ain't for public consumption, not for the kiddies, oh, no, no, no.

"Ceniza... Ah, shit, that's..." Pull her closer, closer, and there's no complaint. Not even a little _gasp_ when it's jabbing against her palate up into the throat and now, now, there's no resistance at all. No gag-reflex.

Thank you, god.

Really.

Thick syrupy _oh god yeah_. It's a quality like Karo around me; bubbling up from deep in the throat and _I_ am there, too, and it's just wilting surrender, perfection, two fingers still laced around the base, stroking, _pumping_ , wrenching up every bit and there's a _hunger_ there.

Esurience.

Thank you, word-a-day.

"You're gonna bring me off _way_ too fast-"

"Like I said, I'll give you a pass for the first one. The second, though..." Oh, oh, _oh_. A mischievous little smile slipping over those voluptuous rose-stained blowjob lips and it's not with gloss and she has absolutely _no_ makeup at all.

Natural beauty. Eyes dark; black sharp and _mesmerizing_. Oh, oh, oh.

You sure you're not a sorceress?

Damn, at this point, who _cares_?

"I'm- I'm gonna-"

"Good. Good. Do it. Do it in my mouth." _Suction_ ; oh, god, it's a sudden violent rushing _tide_ like someone's nuking a fucking dam, and you can't care about _anything_ in that instant that dilates out into a million billion years and I am going fucking _crazy_.

Hips bucking jerking pulling her down; fingers snarled in her hair and still just barely finding purchase at all, twisting through the threads like knives ripped through cotton candy.

Dying.

Dying from this.

Huge neon napalm streaks raked through my eyes and there's breath and curling toes and sweat and it's _pulsing_ outta me, humongous spattering violent racing bursts and it's a fucking machine gun spitting out gelatin and even _she's_ gasping, gurgling, a bit coming up out of her nostrils and smearing her upper lip.

Cooing.

Giggling.

"Wow, you were _not_ joking about being backed up, Dean. I thought you were trying to drown me. Mmm... Look at _that_." A few creamy pearls staining her lips.

Brushed off on a fingertip with the clotted threads from her nose.

"Want a taste?" Offered to _me_.

"Uh, no, thanks-"

"Oh, that's _just_ like all men, huh? They'll give it to _anybody_ to eat, but won't even try their own. Maybe you'll like it-"

"Nah. I don't think so."

"More for me, then." Oh, damn. That's _goodbye_ to a refractory period when the tongue wheels out to daub away the cum and now those delicious slim fingers are just vanishing between her lips. "Wow, _someone_ is pretty perky tonight, huh?"

"Oh, you can't even _imagine_ , Ceniza. I'm serious. I feel like you're a gift from _god_ , honey-"

"Oh, aren't you just _so_ cute? Don't be selfish, though, Dean. C'mon. Give _me_ a little kiss." Yes, yes, yes. "You're always calling me honey.

"How 'bout tasting some of it?" Oh, now _this_ is exactly the therapy no _real_ doctor that hasn't gotten their diploma from a porno will order.

And it's the only one that'll really _cure_ you.

Mend your wounds.

Or at least lick 'em.

Knees; slender and soft and sweet and straddling me and there's a gift to be unwrapped less like Christmas, which, c'mon, was and _is_ always a disappointment. It's Valentine's Day; but there're no drunk newly-dumped chicks to weep on your shoulder and definitely no shitty waxy chocolate.

It's...

"What the hell is that?" Peeling open my gift and there's...

Something there.

"What do you mean, Dean?" I don't need the word-a-day for _this_ one. Bemusement. How can she just be _bemused_ and not...

Well, she...

Is...

It's right there.

Trembling like the planet's most photogenic corn dog. Or something.

Tiny; slim. It's cute.

And that's...

That's why it's _not_ some crazed _Crying Game_ episode right now; not some jizz-drooling foreskinned horror like a mutant anteater sneering at me but it's still...

"You've got a _cock_."

"Uh, _duh_. What'd you think was gonna be there?"

"Y'know, a _woman_. A- what women have."

"A _vagina_? Wow, glad to see somebody took biology." Wow, Ceniza _is_ a serious damn brat. "Well, too bad. C'mon. Just give it a little kiss, and _then_ we can get back to business-"

"No way. I- I just... Oh, damn, a guy just gave me a blowjob."

And you can't quite...

Buck her without just jabbing it closer.

Rippling.

And now, well, ah, the belly's sleek and soft and there's definitely a _woman_ 's roundness, but... But the legs could crush fucking _diamond_.

"Hey-"

"Dean, _please_. Who're you trying to fool, anyway? I've _seen_ your brother; I've seen how you _act_ with your brother." That smile; that wicked _bratty_ smile spearing down through me.

Like a barbed blade, raked over every nerve.

Even _that_ is cute; cyclopean thing, waggling like a puppy's tail.

"Hey, hey, _hey_ , now, ya lil' brat. My brother and me, we do not... Well, I mean, okay, maybe _Sammy_. But not with me-"

"Oh, _c'mon_. I know all of you by reputation, too. It's a serious bromance you've got goin' on, _honey_ -"

"Get that thing out of my face."

"Didn't you want a pet with a cute lil' tail? C'mon... Just a little _kiss_."

"And, anyway-"

"And, _anyway_ , you don't look like the straightest. C'mon."

"I'm _one hundred percent_ hetero, okay? That was- that was just a _trick_ -"

"I'd call it a trap, honestly."

"Damn right, it was-"

"Trapped. Hoisted on your own, ah, petard. Oooh! What's this?" And, damn, damn, that sweet willowy beauty, leaning back and this chick, uh, er... Whatever. _They're_ definitely a gymnast or something; 'cause the spine doesn't bend but _melts_ like warm butter and those are fingers wrapped around me, and, ah... "Hah. Looks like you're still as, ah, _hard_ as you always look-"

"'cause you touched it-"

"'cause you like it. Besides, one hundred percent hetero? Dean? C'mon."

"All right. Ninety _nine_." There was that vacation to Thailand. Who knew, right?

"Ninety _nine_?"

"Ninety five!" And, ah, there _was_ Acapulco. And that one hunt in Korea. And...

"See? And how many lovers have you had, Dean?"

"At least two hundred. Easy."

Silence.

"Mmm... So, ah, two hundred lovers... What's five percent of that?"

Shit.

"Gotcha." Damn, she does.

"I get to call you a girl-"

"Done." Well, why not? Why not give it a little kiss? "Oh, now _your_ lips are nice. Your brother, he's kinda... Fruity. Not my type at all." Hah.

Even the...

Uh...

Androgynes?

Even _they_ think he's too swishy.

And this's someone with their cock about a half-inch from my lips now. Bending up to dapple it with soft little kisses and it's _sweet_. The skin's essence; the flavor, aroma. Damn, what'm I, auditioning for my own cooking show?

 _Cock Cuisine, With Dean_.

Hey, now _that_...

Retirement idea.

"Use your hands, too. C'mon. I don't wanna _come_ in your mouth; I just want a lil' kissy." So damn cute. And why not? At least I owe her _that_ one? Peering up at the soft creamy skin and the cheeks're already bubbling with pink like her tongue and _that's_ coming out, spilling over her lips, and that... That _thing_ is soft, a firmness like hard gelatin enrobed in silk and it _is_ lovely.

A giant clit. Or something.

"Ngn... You're making me feel _really_ good. Get me ready, now." Oh, yeah. And now, now, it's those delicious numbers, sixty-nine, pitching down across me like liquid satin in cream and now, now, her fingers, tongue, they're tugging twisting pulling and her ass could not only stop traffic but probably turn I-96 into a parking lot.

Kiss it; _adore_ it.

Nuzzle it.

Now _this_ is the kinda pet I want.

"Ngn... That's good." Her voice already hoarse, husky, _deep_ , coming over her shoulder with her soft sweet perfume. "That's _sooo_ good. C'mon. More. More. Put your tongue _inside_ me." Yeah, yeah, _yeah_.

Lick; kiss.

Feel the skin; that cool soft quality against my cheek, and there's a faint little giggle bubbling up _stroking_ my ears like...

Well, like she's stroking _me_ down there.

"Your stubble's all ticklish." Cooing; you could probably _explode_ from that. Just that. _Patience_ , man.

And my lips, ah, they're a little preoccupied. Tongue slipping up and down and _all_ around that soft dimpling pucker and my nose can only find itself there, too, sucking down that luscious oh so _sweet_ aroma.

"Hey! Are you _smelling_ me? You're like a horny animal, aren't you?"

"We're all animals, Ceniza." Or something like that.

 _Wallanmals_.

And finally, finally, a quick _jab_.

Tension slackening.

Palms cradling her ass and, yeah, there _is_ that bulk against my chest, but who cares? Even _that's_ girlish. Why can't there be a girly cock?

Bare little shape straining up into her belly and slackening again and it's raw, hot, sleek and soft and _hugely_ hard.

Oh, yeah.

I'm amazing.

Even with a sexy boy like _this_.

"O-oh, oh, oh..." And your eyes, in moments like these, the damnedest things are the ones you notice. The fine definition in muscle like a dolphin cresting dark waters and one of those fine feet is twisting, straining, ankles pivoting and cute toes straining into the bedding and fingers are _tearing_ like fucking talons.

"Oh, that feels so good. That feels so fucking good, Dean. Do it- do it more. Harder. It- it feels... Ah... Ah, _damn it_ , that's so amazing." That cute little cock bobbling against me and her hair matted with sweat and still so _full_ rippling over her shoulders her arching back and my tongue's being _ridden_ now.

Jabbed jammed deeper; mouth twisted open and who fuckin' cares if I'll need to have my jaw wired shut soon, 'cause this is...

I'm drunker with _this_ than ten shots of Wild Turkey.

Sixty.

What's my blood-sex poisoning, anyway?

Who cares?

Flailing flitting through that pucker and it's such a cute dimpling thing and now my universe is only a wheeling confusion of her plump firm bubbly ass and her hair's huge gray plume and her scent and her sweet deliciousness and _everything_.

"Put it in me. Right now. I want you to fuck me _right_ now, or I'm gonna go crazy. I'm gonna go crazy, anyway, but at least it'll be the _good_ kind."

Not the ax-wielding let's-play-Lorena-Bobbitt kind, I hope.

And it's just...

Holy shit.

A sight.

No need for word-a-day.

A _spectacle_.

The curvaceous round thighs trembling and the fine knees _raw_ red from the bedding and the calves taut and she's bearing _down_ , twisted around to stare with those humongous crude-oil eyes down at _me_ and that cute thing's swollen and quaking and she's just...

Falling.

Falling.

No need to raise the flag with a hand; just to balance me, and it's _inside_ her in an instant, and it's falling into a universe made out of liquid lust and sleek oiled heat and it's warm tight succulent _swallowing_ me and there's just a wish to _scream_.

Fuck my leg; I wanna bang her 'til her eyes pop out of her head.

But...

Patience.

Patience.

"O-oh, that's deep. That's so fuckin' deep. I... I feel like I'm _really_ goin' crazy now, Dean." Hands on her hips.

 _Ridden_.

Rearing up and falling down; a slow slow slow _oh so slow what do you wanna fuckin'_ **kill** _me with sexual kindness_ kind of slowness and you can only just wheel helplessly through _everything_.

Hands lacquered on her hips and dragged up with her and down again and her toes strain and calves shiver with the movement and the thighs _quake_ and the body _trembles_ and there's just...

Insanity.

Hair pouring around her.

Spilling over my belly.

And that endless delicious cooing.

 _Ah ah ah ah_.

Rising to a fragile little-girl pitch and then _imploding_ down into some deep guttural snarl and it's _all_ sexy; the most incredible fucking thing you've ever tasted.

It always is.

Hips rising up to meet her every fall.

Hoping that that kiss'll just be a _second_ longer.

Slapping against her ass' luscious hot skin. 's inflamed with both of us.

Oh, yeah.

Grind her down now.

"Oh, _that's_ what I wanted. Don't be so gentle, _Dean_. Just- just do it hard. Do it hard. Make _me_ come. I won't take _no_ for an answer-"

"You're only gonna hear _yes_ from me, Ceniza." Yeah, yeah, yeah. Arching; angling it. And, hell, amazing her eyes aren't popping out and over my chest.

Just...

So delicious.

Her body's tracing a creamy sweat-shimmering arch in the half-light; some weird fever-dream aura, bronze melted and poured like coconut oil over her skin and everything twinkles everything's _brilliant_ blinding and eyes are scalding with sweat and fall closed and open again and she's closer, closer.

Lips _hungering_.

Kissing me; more than kissing.

Just about inhaling me.

Pump up into her and now, now, there's only lust. Minds, souls, hell, _brains_ , they've melted down into slag and I'm amazed they're not pouring out of both of our ears, pooling on the mattress.

Hungry _howls_ vaulting out of her jaws, straining open now, closing again with a crazed _twanging_ tension.

"Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. It feels so good." And other soft little yelps.

A subdued _chin-chin-chin_.

That's...

Weird.

Chirping.

Squealing.

"Oh, fuck, fuck, Ceniza, this's... You're driving me insane. Driving me totally fucking crazy." As if I'm sane as it is.

Oh, well.

Deep; deeper than deep.

Feeling her wound _wrapped_ around me tighter and sleeker and softer than fingers than _anything_ else could be and it's... It's just so _damn elegant_ I can't fucking believe it.

Wet.

Sticky.

Drenched with her voice; _serenaded_ with every inch pulled into her and dragged out again.

Fingers laced through her hair; tasting her nape.

 _Hers_ like claws, tearing at my shoulders.

"Ah. Ah. Ah. I'm... You're hitting _that_ spot inside me. You're gonna... I'm... I'm gonna get you all wet and dirty."

Oh, well.

Can feel it.

Throbbing.

Around me.

Clenching.

Sudden cinching a berserk spastic fit like a fuckin' _seizure_ ripping through her and the legs jerk and spasm and _it_ is bloating hotter than hot against me and it's not just seeping out but _spraying_ over my belly like fucking magma Ceniza like Pinatubo and _I'm_ about to be, and...

It's _scalding_.

Matted with her hair.

"Ah. Ah!" Arching; head thrown back and it's an animal _shriek_. Bellowing howling and how can you refuse _that_?

The world melts.

Everything.

Walls become gelatin and 's fuckin' amazing they're not just crumpling and everything's not just becoming a black hole and you're standing at that event horizon and who cares if you disappear who cares about _anything_ when there's just the need to pump slap pummel deeper deeper deeper _deeper_.

"Oh, fuck, fuck, you're- you're coming inside me. Do it; c'mon. Don't waste one _drop_." Who would? Filling her.

It's...

Spurting.

Bubbling around me.

Lubricated with it and just more, more. Can't stop; can't stop.

With her nails tearing huge red livid nonsense over my chest.

When I'm about to fucking _die_.

Still more.

" _Chin_ , _chin_ , _chin_." Squealing; her last words or _something_ 'cause that was... Was sexual _death_. Crumpling on me and we're definitely, well, at least an invitation to a fuckin' sponge bath. "Oh, that was _good_ , Dean.

"I _knew_ your hands were just... Whew. Incredible. Amazing. You make me feel _so_ good."

"What about _you_ , Ceniza? Honey, that was just..."

"Looks like you _are_ quite the back door man, huh, Dean?" Giggling.

And it's already...

"Ngn... Your brother's coming back soon, Dean. We can't do it again. But, um, if you want..." Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. That surreally sexy flair that _only_ a woman has; tongue creeping over perfect teeth and fingers brushing a few sweat-stained stripes of hair away from her eyes.

"Tomorrow night." What? Impatient? With this, _this_ , that's staring placidly at a buffet like a good obedient little doggy while _you_ starve for a decade. "Hell, any time; any _any_ time. But, ah... Waitaminute. Why _are_ you here?"

"So horny you didn't even _think_ about it, huh? Think I'm such a shitty pet anymore, Dean?"

Wha?

Vamping; _twisting_ around and now she's just _tormenting_ me, arching back, soles still on the mattress, _dragging_ that wet cum-sodden heat around me and up and down and I am _not_ finished not satisfied and her ass is smearing _us_ over my hips and...

"Whaddaya- what?"

"Mmm... Don't you like your new pet, Dean? Good thing _Sam_ didn't know the chick at the pet store's a sorceress. Don't worry; she's a _good_ witch. This's my reward for being such a _loyal_ familiar to her. I wanted to see a, ah...

"New master for awhile." Holy shit. Twisting around and _mesmerizing_ me with those eyes. "Aren't I soft?"

"Oh, yeah." Palms tasting, fuck, _devouring_ her hips; her ass.

"Don't be mean to your little chin-slut unless I want it." So delicious I could definitely survive for a week on just _that_.

Damn.

She's _standing_.

Hips swinging with a sweet syrupy sashay and that's her palm cracking with a quick _slap_ at her ass and...

It musta been a dream.

A seriously weird fucking dream.

"Dude, Dean, close your door or puts some _pants_ on, man!" Oh, crap.

Eyes opening and it's...

Morning?

Something?

Sam's at the doorway and this is _not_ exactly how I imagined the morning-after would be. Even if it's the weirdest fuckin' dream I've ever had.

I think.

Hand slapping at my crotch and there's, uh...

Something soft.

Slathered on me.

A little encrusted.

And something else.

Perfume.

Vaporous like a ghost; suck it down and there's definitely _memory_.

At least Sammy's turned away; a few seconds to struggle back up and tug up my jeans.

"Sorry 'bout that, Sammy. I, ah, had to let the dog out for a walk, y'know-"

"Oh, nasty, man. Don't tell me that." Twisting back into the hall while I'm groping for a shirt; the crutches. Damn, that kid can whine.

"Oh, c'mon, Sammy. Nothing you've never seen before. We _do_ sleep rough-"

"No. No way, Dean. Not _that_ rough."

"Yeah, don't feel too bad for not measurin' up, kid." A hand slapped at his shoulder. "Hey, you're wearin' the same clothes as last night-"

"Well, it _is_ last night. It's just eleven-thirty." Ouch. "How long've you been asleep, anyway, Dean?"

"Long enough, I guess. I feel _refreshed_. Hey, ah... About that cute little chinchilla ya got." And now Sammy's quirking one brow over one sullen eye, gawping at me like I've grown another head and then _that_ one grew another.

"What about it? You didn't do anything _weird_ , did you, Dean? Shave it?"

"Hey, who'd do that to a cute defenseless little animal, man? What kinda nutcase d'ya think I am? Hey, you wanna beer? I got this sudden need for a beer-"

"How about you start with a _shower_ , man? Hey, did you have a girl over, dude? You smell like..." Uh, sex.

Smell like a _century_ of sex.

Sammy's shoulders sagging like your libido when you walk in on Rush Limbaugh and Hillary Clinton reconciling in the _worst_ possible way.

"What about you, Sammy? You smell kinda... Uh, drunk." Or the brewery had a _serious_ accident.

"She just wanted to talk to me about _pets_. The whole night, man. That chick was gorgeous, but she's fucking _crazy_." Oh.

Well.

"So, ah, she into _that_ kinda stuff-"

"Oh, _ew_. No way, Dean. I didn't mean that she likes animals _that way_. I think. That'd be- y'know what, man?" Laughter.

Between both of us; bubbling up outta the chest.

"Actually, Dean, that _would_ make me feel a lot better. I'm glad she didn't ask me to go horseback riding or something." Hah. "She just... Said she likes animals a lot more than people."

"Come to think of it, I think that's a pretty good way to think, Sammy. Animals are, ah, a lot more reliable than people, huh?" 'specially when they _can_ be people. The best virtues of both, huh?

"You, too, Dean?" Man, the guy's exasperated. Guess he's dreading his date with Miss Michigan and her five daughters tonight.

"Call it a religious experience. Or something. Changed my outlook. I really like your little chinchilla." Stumping off with him to his room.

And it's there.

The fur...

"Hey, you got it all messy! What'd you do, man?" Sam snapping up the cute little thing.

And the eyes...

They're just staring at _me_.

Hot through the cold light.

"I just played with it a little-"

"What? In the kitchen?" Oh, _crap_. Something matted on its fur; and now smeared on his fingers. And scrutinized. Please, _please_ , not _that_ much. "Where'd you find _doughnuts_ , anyway? Is this glaze?" Please, _please_ , don't lick it off your fingers, dude. Don't. That's too far. Even for me.

"Yeah, uh, you could say that. The little guy was just hungry." For something, anyway. "He's a cute little boy, ain't he?"

"Why do you think it's a boy? It looks like a little girl to me." Sam's squinting like a moron at it. Since when has _he_ ever sexed a chinchilla? Uh, since when has _anyone_? Is that a job? How do you fit _that_ one into your getting-to-know-you stuff on a date?

"Oh, believe me, man. I _know_. It's a boy."

"Ah, Dean?" Sam's, ah, quizzical. 's he perfect word for it.

Staring at _me_ now.

"Never mind, dude. Hey, how 'bout you let him sleep in my room for awhile? I'm, ah, kinda lonely, y'know?"

 _Chin-chin-chin_.

"Did it sound like the chinchilla was laughing, Dean?"

"Just your imagination, Sammy."

 

 


End file.
